Busker through life
by spicybleachedhead
Summary: Shuuhei is a busker with a very interesting past. He meets Renji after performing and they talk about bad coffee. Side story to The Flames of No One's Eyes, which I'm currently working on.  WARNING: a slight *SLIGHT* ref to yaoi, so ya know


Hey! You! Don't worry, if you don't get most things. This is an AU fic, and a background to another story I'm currently still writting _(The flames of no one's eyes_). You could think of this as a prologue. Well, I'm still looking over it and writting the rest.

But, hey! This is other fic altogether, so let's not get too crazy 'bout it. Anyways, do review this one if you find it to your liking. It's not much of a yaoi fic, though. It's more like "a glimpse of the beginning" of the real story -which is actually GrimmIchi, not ShuuRen like this one is.

Anywho, the basics:

Disclaimer: Not my characters, but Kubo Tite's. Also, references are not mine either (you'll see what I mean... I hope)

Slight yaoi: ShuuRen -don't like it then, well, none of my business, so no flaming 'bout that, 'k?

Reviews are a _MUST_! (Ok, no, they're not, but I'd really, really, really, really, really, _really _appreciate them... I probably made mistakes, so look them up and** DO tell me so I can fix them**)

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**Busker through life**

It was a starlit-sky night in Karakura. The town was in its proper mood for a weekend, as if everyone suddenly decided to be in a good mood for the evening. Yet, as good as one's mood might be, it would not make any difference if the person's heart was still trapped in a cage. Therefore, a single busker sitting on the edge of a public park's fountain played his sorrows throughout the night, hoping to vanquish any sorrows that the people passing by might have hidden inside themselves, protected by the false daily smile on their lips.

Of course no busker could actually heal people that fast — probably no one could. But if only a single soul would show a genuine smile for the songs he played, the busker would be terrifically joyful for as much as he could. As long as I can see a smile today, he thought.

As the night passed by and it became late, the busker decided to play his last song for the evening. He had waited long before he played that one because it was his ace, the best song he ever played a cover of.

And as expected, it was the best hit so far.

People gathered around him — mostly couples who were enjoying the last of their night out — and the tips he received for his wonderful ability with the guitar _and _his voice had never been so generous. It felt a little disappointing the fact that the popularity came from the song he was playing, but he had practiced for many years and if he had played that same song when he had no skills whatsoever the result would most probably not be the same, so he settled with playing putting all his feelings into it.

As the song came to the end, the busker received many positive comments from the watchers. His income had also been great so he would probably have enough to eat for the whole week. It was a good thing he was a light eater, but with that quality of life his once beautifully sculpted muscles were not as grand as they used to be. They looked smaller and smaller as the days passed, but he would still look gorgeous — perhaps too gorgeous to be nothing other than a street performer.

After he thanked the audience, one by one the people around him started scattering, commenting positively about the busker's small show. It made him happy to see happy people, so the faint smile on his lips was sincere, though filled with a background tint of sadness. Maybe nostalgia.

That was when he noticed one of the listeners had not turned around to leave yet. Instead, he was staring intensely at the busker's eyes. He blinked with confusion: had he been that good that now he had fans? After feeling a little uncomfortable with the silence, he looked up to see who the fan was. The night lights reflected on the man's long red hair, tied up in a ponytail. He was tall, very tall, and he had tattoos all over his body — front, eye brows, neck, chest, arms, and the rest was not visible. He wore a plain white T-shirt that hang from his shoulders — as if the collar had been purposely torn off —, half-tight black jeans and red canvas snickers. A red blouse hanged from his waist and a silver chain from his neck.

Their eyes locked. There was something very weird about the red haired fan, who kept staring fiercely at the busker as if he had something to say, but could not quite find the right words. And so the busker beat him to it:

"Hey, what's your name?" he asked the fan.

"A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-Aba-"

"Aba—?"

"Abarairenji!" The fan blushed hard as he vomited his name out all at once.

"Abarai? Pleased to meet you, Abarai-san, my name is Hisagi Shuuhei."

The fan seemed to have relaxed a little. "Hisagi-san, I... I loved your performance."

"Is that so? Thank you very much."

"You see I... was passing by and I... saw you and uhh... You, I mean, would you like to..."

"Have some coffee with you before all the café's around here are closed? I would love to."

"Wha—?, how did you—? But, I—," the red haired man said, and after each unfinished sentence he blushed harder.

"I kind of had the same idea. Come on, let's go," Shuuhei encouraged him while pushing him by the fan's upper back. The busker noticed the man was taller than him, even though he considered himself to be rather tall. How come he was so uke-ish?

Later on, they were both drinking iced coffee inside a nearby café. The coffee was awful so they both had left their drinks forgotten on the table. Renji was way more communicative and actually talked more naturally, asking many questions about the busker's life. Shuuhei managed to answer most of them, but some made him remember of his life before becoming a busker.

It had not been a bad life. It had been great, but the parting had been too painful. Too many bad things happened at once, and all he could do was help the young lady run away from the mansion. In the end he got himself banished and was forced to live in poverty. He missed those days when he would talk with the young lady about video games and anime. If only Kuchiki-sama had not given to that organization's demands... Shuuhei had desperately tried to convince his master that it was a trap, but to no avail — maybe Hisana going missing for that long made him hope for what was not possible. Such a shame that it was the young lady the one who had to suffer for it.

"Hisagi-san? Are you okay? You've been nodding to everything I said. And that includes 'what's the first rock song you learned to play' and 'pink umbrella'."

"Oh, sorry, Abarai-san. I was thinking too much, that's all."

Maybe eventually those days of friendship with the young lady will return, he thought, I just hope it is not a too far away future. He sipped his iced coffee.

"Shit, I forgot how these things suck," Shuuhei said.

"I know, right?" said his fan, "Makes one want to create his own café — one that makes real, tasty frappes."

"Hey, that's brilliant! When I gather enough money I'm gonna have my own café!" It was random, but it was definitely a good way to eventually meet the young lady again. He was sure that she would soon find a new home, even though he had yet find one for himself. It was too bad that when they ran away he had to serve as a distraction, and so they never met again since that day.

"Hey, I'll— I'll help you."

"Oh, no, I can't possibly ask you for such a thing, and—," Shuuhei started saying, when he was interrupted.

"Shut up, I want to! I have some connections and you could easily start your own business! You said you went to college, right?"

"Yeah, I did a superior course in Gastronomy, Computer Science and—"

"Wow, wait, how old are you again?"

"Twenty four, why?"

"So like, you have a degree on all those things... How?"

"I, uhh, finished high school two years earlier and studied Gastronomy and Comp. Science simultaneously."

"And you're a busker, _why_?" Renji asked in a sharp tone, reminding Shuuhei of a certain Nic******on's show that used to be very popular.

"Because there isn't any big job opportunities in this town, in which half of the population is made out of students. Apparently there's also too many cooks around for one to get a job that easily and, well, uhh..."

"And...?"

"And I never passed any interview with this 69 tattoo on my face, you know..."

They stared at each other, grinned and then burst into laughter.

And so the busker found himself something other than music to play. Yet, it was something as beautiful as chords ringing in sintony, one after another, eventually forming songs, symphonies, soundtracks. It was hope.

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A/N: Eventually I might add a link to a DA bleach fanart I'm working with right now that is themed with this fic. For now -YOU THERE DON'T RUN AWAY LIKE RUKIA DID: LEAVE A REVIEW~~~~~ -Ahem, for now, I hope y'all liked this.


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